18. Fenric
The trek to Lord Mire’s lands took only two days, as Fenric had promised, but the notion of this being a quick in-and-out quest died as they reached the edge of the forest surrounding the farmlands and manor.
In fact, they never got close enough to see the village of Dunley, which rested under Lord Mire’s care.
As the tree line started to thin, they crossed over a dry riverbed and came upon an impenetrable white fog that blocked out all trees and grasses beyond where they stood.
To their left and right, as far as they could see, it was as if the world ended right where the fog began.
Even all sounds stopped at the fog. Nothing could be heard beyond it.
It gave them all pause. This was not natural.
Fenric scrubbed a hand through his messy hair while a trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face.
The air was sultry and still, with not a single breeze to keep the uncomfortable heat at bay.
His clothes stuck to him, and he was ready for a nice pint of cool ale in the shade.
Instead, he had a creepy fog to send a chill down his spine on a hot summer day.
Lovely. This was all just great.
But it wasn’t like he could walk away from this job.
Upon reaching the wall of fog, they’d climbed out of the skele-elk-drawn wagon to inspect the immediate area. They all stood with their hands resting on weapons, ready for anything that might launch itself from the dense whiteness. Even Maxie stood close, a dagger clenched in his fist.
“Well,” Rain said loudly, making the party jump. “Since this was Fenric’s idea, I say he has to go first.”
There were many murmurs of agreement while Fenric glared at the pirate.
“This fog looks magical to me,” Fenric replied.
“My magical abilities are limited and don’t currently include defeating magic fog.
Maybe it would be better if our resident warlock checked it out first.” Fenric shifted to look at Malfas standing on his right.
“Didn’t you and Belstrom research more on finfolk the night before we left?
You said they could do magic, right? This has got to be their doing. ”
Malfas puffed himself up, his fist tightening on his constellation-powered club.
“Yes.” He licked his lips and edged a step forward.
“You should leave this in the hands of a magic professional. Keeping this in the hands of the layman, and I mean that as anyone without significant and proper magic training like myself, will only result in death and possible dismemberment, which we need to avoid so we won’t be trouble for our resident necromancer. ”
Fenric stepped back with the rest of the group and watched with his arms folded over his chest, though he clenched a dagger in one fist, just in case.
Hapi scoffed next to him, and Fenric poked him in the ribs with his elbow.
If the necromancer was going to be an ass, he could take a stab at the fog next.
The warlock didn’t seem to notice as he continued forward, robes billowing around him.
His sweaty red hair stood up in every direction from his hand running through his short locks.
He jingled softly with each step as various medallions and vials moved on his body.
His grimoire was open in one hand, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to it because he was busy arguing with the club clenched in his other hand.
“I don’t understand why you can’t take a peek first,” Malfas hissed.
“It’s not like it can kill you.” When he reached the edge of the wall, he thrust the club into the fog, careful to keep his hand outside the reach of the misty tendrils.
Fenric held his breath and leaned forward on the tips of his toes, trying to get a better view.
A couple of seconds ticked by and Malfas pulled the club back. “See! I told you that you’d be fine. Did you see anything?” A long pause followed that left Fenric wanting to shake both Malfas and the club. “Huh. Okay.”
“What? What’s going on, you daffy bastard?” Rain bellowed. Smack! “Ow! Brute!” He leveled a cold glare at the barbarian on his left.
Belstrom cleared his throat. “Are you injured, Malfas? Do you require my assistance?”
“No. Ezlan is being cranky, but we’re all okay. I think…I think we’re going to try something.” Before anyone could ask what he was thinking, Malfas took a gigantic step into the fog. In the blink of an eye, he disappeared.
They all shouted in surprise, calling him back—or simply calling him insane—but nothing. No sounds came from the forest. The fog ate up light, sound, and movement.
“What should we do?” Maxie’s fingers bit into Fenric as Maxie grabbed his arm and shook it. “We can’t just leave him in there alone! He could be killed.”
Maxie had barely finished speaking when Belstrom let out a bellowing roar and charged into the fog with his war hammer raised above his head.
“Shit,” Fenric muttered.
“Pretty much.” Hapi sighed wearily.
Yet, Belstrom had barely disappeared into the fog when the soles of his boots appeared, poking out of the fog like he’d fallen. Or been slain by whatever lurked in the misty madness.
Fenric’s heart jolted painfully in his chest. Was he dead? Without a sound? No! Belstrom was a mountain of a man. Nothing could have taken him down so quickly.
A thousand denials crowded Fenric’s brain as he rushed forward with the others and grabbed Belstrom’s feet. With a lot of grunting and swearing, they pulled the behemoth of a man out of the fog. They rolled him over to find…nothing wrong with him.
Belstrom’s cheeks were bright red as he sat up.
His long blond hair was a tangled mess around his head and he still gripped his war hammer in his right fist. “Forgive me for frightening you fellows. I was not expecting Malfas to have stopped immediately on the other side of the barrier. I collided with his stationary figure. In my attempt to not crush him and cause him harm, I fell. Though, I do appreciate your valiant efforts to save my life.”
Hapi’s left eye twitched, and it looked like he was considering killing Bel. There was no guarantee he would resurrect the barbarian later.
“Is there anything weird with the fog? Was Mal okay?” Fenric demanded as quickly as possible to keep Hapi from murder.
“I encountered nothing irregular within the turbid miasma, and Malfas appeared unharmed. I confess that I caught only a glimpse of him before becoming focused on maintaining my failing balance.”
“To hell with this,” Fenric grumbled and marched into the fog.
For a heartbeat, there were shouts, and then a cool damp blanket wrapped around him, only to release him a second later.
He blinked, and he was standing in a patch of trees next to a confused warlock.
The fog was only about a foot thick. On the other side of the wall, the fog had thinned just enough that he could make out the vague shapes of scattered trees and bushes, but only by a few feet.
Even Malfas was a bit hazy, even though not a foot of space separated them.
“Oh. Hello, Fen,” Malfas greeted cheerfully. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”
“It’s…something. Did the finfolk do this? Or does Lord Mire employ a warlock or wizard to make this shit?”
“No, no, no. This definitely is finfolk magic. Lord Mire and his people are trapped by this. The fact he managed to get out any kind of request at all is impressive. I can only assume the creation of a fog this dense and impressive was a gradual thing as the finfolk slowly took over the region.”
Fenric lifted his empty left hand and rubbed his fingers together. The air was thick with condensation, but it didn’t feel poisonous or otherwise deadly.
Silence reigned in the forest. There were no sounds of animal life at all, as if they’d fallen mute with the fog. Or the animals were in hiding because something bigger and scarier lurked nearby.
Thankfully, the rest of the group entered the fog a moment later. They paused only long enough to confirm no one was dying or rotting or melting or anything else ghastly.
“So, which way?” Hapi inquired.
“According to the map, straight north from here.”
“Okay. Malfas, take the lead. I’ll take point with Malfas. Rain and Hapi, cover our rear. Belstrom, on Malfas’s left. Puppy, you stay in the center.” Fenric spat out directions and everyone jumped to fall into position. Their way forward sounded easy enough, but Fenric was prepared for anything.
But it wasn’t enough.
They’d made it no more than a handful of steps into the fog when a brutal force slammed into the center of Fenric’s chest. The air rushed out of his lungs, and he flew through the air.
In the blink of an eye, he landed hard on the ground, ass bruised and chest sore.
He blinked to find the others landing around him.
At a glance, they were back on the road next to a dry riverbed.
“Are…are we back where we started?” Hapi asked.
“What the fuck was that?” Fenric snapped. He sat up and looked around to see the others also sitting up, their clothes and hair disheveled from their flight through the air. Maxie was leaning on his left hip and rubbing his ass, his face twisted in a pained wince.
“We are back,” Rain said. He pointed at a brown apple core. “Bel was eating apples all this morning and dropping his cores.”
“Fuck!” Fenric shouted. He should have known this would be harder than expected, and they weren’t even at the manor yet.
Fenric climbed to his feet and eyed the very thick mist around the area with a scowl.
Rain came to stand at his shoulder, frowning as he panned his head.
“Last time I saw fog this thick, I was sixteen. Had to drop anchor right where I was or risk scuttling the ship. It lasted three days before the thrice-benighted mage who had cast the spell finally took it off again.”
This wasn’t the first story he’d heard Rain mention from that period of time. “Rain, out of curiosity, did you have a single day of peace when you were sixteen?”
“Not that I recall,” he said with a chuckle. “Seventeen wasn’t much better.”